


Hipesos

by afterandalasia



Series: Atlantis: The Lost Omegaverse [1]
Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)
Genre: 1910s, Alpha Kida Nedakh, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Canon Era, Coda, Consensual Sex, Crack, F/M, Gender Related, Mild Sexual Content, Omega Milo Thatch, The Author Regrets Nothing, Translation Available, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milo Thatch is used to be an Omega in a world that doesn't much seem to care for him. He escapes into the idea of Atlantis from his youth.</p><p>Then his journeys take him to the reality of Atlantis, and it is far more than he could ever have imagined.</p><p>October 2017: <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/6002952">Translation in Russian</a> now available!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hipesos

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Omegaverse had to come to Disney eventually. More a sort of worldbuilding-coda running parallel to the canonical story. One vague sex scene, but not really graphic. I've also left the biology pretty vague -- plenty of fics have done that better (and more explicitly) than I.
> 
> Title is the Atlantean word for 'beloved'.
> 
>  
> 
> As of Oct 2017, I am honoured (and squeeing a little) to announce that a [Translation in Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6002952) is now available on Ficbook. If you read Russian, check it out!

He got used to the insults after a while, he found. It didn't mean that they made him any less angry, but it wouldn't make that anger any less futile either. So all that Milo could do was grit his teeth and wish that they would at least bother to make sure that they were out of his earshot.

“After all,” they said, even now when he knew damn well that he had proved himself, “that's what happens when you go educating an omega. They get these _ideas_ in their heads.”

Except that Milo has always had ideas. Education just gave him the words for them.

 

 

“You do... know about me, don't you?” He says, looking in amazement. Even though he knows it is true, even though he is holding the book in his hands and this model of this boat is in front of him, it is hard to believe.

Whitmore just gives a bark of a laugh and slaps him on the back. “What, that you're an omega? Ha! Doesn't mean you ain't got a brain, does it?”

He holds the book tightly to his chest, and the words tightly to his heart. He had always promised his grandfather that he would make him proud.

 

 

Milo is biased, and he knows it, but he considers the development of heat suppressants to be up there with pasteurisation or the understanding of tuberculosis. Though it might mean that he spends one or two weeks a year feverish and vomiting, he'll still take it. The only thing worse than smelling like an omega is smelling like an omega in heat.

(Though sometimes, in his more cynical moments, he can't help but wonder whether they would have been developed at all were it not for the fact that they benefit alphas as well. He's learnt to keep thoughts like that to himself, though.)

He'll put up with that, he'll put up with having a sense of smell worse than a beta, and he'll put up with the disapproving looks that he gets from the doctors when he asks for them. It's worth it, even if his stomach disagrees with the rest of him.

It does mean that he has to watch the little clues, though, keeping an eye on how people act rather than how they smell. Sure, the arrogant bastards are more likely to be alphas, but he can't be sure – and worse, they know what he was all the same, if they cared enough to take one good sniff.

 

 

He's trying to avoid the strange small person talking to him about dirt when he bumps into someone who smells so _Alpha_ that it almost knocks him over.

“Name's Sweet,” the man says. “Joshua Sweet.”

Milo manages, “Oh boy,” and resolutely does not go cross-eyed when the alpha waves the saw around and talks so enthusiastically about it.

“Don't worry,” Sweet adds as Milo leaves, raising his voice to just a little too public a volume. “I've got a wife at home. Safe and bonded.”

Once he gets used to being around an alpha again, he has to admit that it is easier. Milo has just plain never met an alpha doctor before, though being a doctor with whom no-one can argue is probably good for keeping patients calm. Sweet just keeps everyone in order, and that's that.

 

 

Of course, the first thing that he grabs when the submarine is hit is the Shepherd's Journal. How could it be anything else? It's only weeks later, miles further down the line, that he starts to get that shivery feeling and the heaviness in the small of his back and realises that he'd left a lot of things behind. They just hadn't been important at the time.

He's been thinking about the problem for less than a day when Sweet just strides over to him, draws him aside slightly, and presses something into his hand. “Old Arapaho recipe.”

The clap on the shoulder almost knocks him over again. It takes Milo a while to figure out exactly what Sweet means, and then he goes crimson. Technically, it is probably normal for a doctor to be so cavalier about... things like that. But that doesn't make it feel any less weird.

 

 

The herbs are an improvement on the commercial pills, he has to say. He only throws up the first day that he uses them.

Everyone just shrugs, and blames it on Cookie. Cookie seems to consider this some sort of achievement.

 

 

“So the funny thing is,” says Audrey, wrestling her sleeping mat into place, “that my Papi always wanted two alpha boys, right? One to run his shop, and the other to become middleweight boxing champion.”

People never volunteer information to Milo, and the sensation fascinates him. It feels, oddly, almost intimate the way that these people are now talking to him. “What about your sister?”

“She argued her way into the rings with the other alphas, got a shot at the title next month.”

“Remind me never to get into a fight with your sister,” Milo murmurs.

“Nobody ever needs reminding of that,” says Sweet, in all seriousness.

“Me, I find it easier being a beta. Nobody expects you to hit them,” says Audrey with a grin.

He blinks. “Okay, I won't get into a fight with you either.”

Audrey chuckles. “Yeah, probably a good idea. And don't get between Vinnie and his flowers, for that matter. He'll mess you up over the wrong coloured roses.”

“Roses are serious business,”says Vinnie, from the confines of his tent. “You don't want the wrong colour roses. Anyway, omegas always get the smells wrong. Gotta be a beta to have a nose for flowers.”

Milo leans forward just in time to see the top of Mole's head disappearing into the ground. An appreciative, if slightly disturbing, sound follows just before his light flicks off. “And Mole...”

“You don't want to know,” says Sweet.

Milo probably has to agree with that one. 

 

 

(Personally, Milo thinks that explosions and fire are some of the worst possible things that could happen as part of a night. He isn't entirely sure that the others feel the same way.)

 

 

He comes round with blood on his shoulder, pain radiating through, well, _everywhere_ , and a pair of glowing blue eyes right in front of him. It's too weird for him to even shout, and when he tries to scramble away the pain gets worse and he feels blood start running down his chest. His right arm doesn't want to move, and he would be distinctly worried about that were it not for whatever the hell it is in front of him.

Then whatever it is removes its mask, and turns out to be... well, probably the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. He feels very weird to be thinking that, because he should probably be more frightened by this situation, and he feels pretty bad about it considering that half his life seems to have been taken up by people sniffily commenting that he doesn't look anything at all like an omega should. But none of that matters, because he just wants to grab her by the hand and ask her name and babble at her until she tells him to shut up, and part of him wants to kiss her as well.

Maybe he hit his head. That's the only remotely sensible explanation that he can think of. She leans closer, and he shuffles back a little but doesn't really want to, and then she touches her necklace against his arm, and then her hand, and _oh_.

Her touch is almost painfully hot, warmth radiating out from each of her fingers to weave into his flesh as well as across his skin. The pain of the wound deadens, replaced with a strange tightening, uncomfortable and unpleasant but nothing more, and as he looks down he can see it knitting back together again. Soon there is nothing more than a patch of blood on his skin, and...

This, surely, is just another effect of bumping his head. There is no way that blue light could be lingering, in the shape of her hand, on his skin.

“Who-” he half-says, but there is a shout in the distance and the figures flinch, looking around sharply. The woman in the mask smiles, unreadably, and he reaches out for her but she is already gone.

As he scrambles after them, then pain in his shoulder is gone, but he barely spares a thought for it. There are _people_ , here under the world, the very last place he could have thought that they would be. And _she_ is one of them.

 

 

“You know,” Rourke muses to himself, “someone ought to talk to that girl.”

He's delegating something in the background, but Milo is trying to find the pages in the book about the royal family. He can remember them being there somewhere, he is sure, that there had been a King and a Princess when the shepherd had been down here.

His mind is still full up with the fact that there are people alive, and speaking, and... being _people_ down here. He can't wait to sit down with one of his notebooks and write everything down – who knew, at the very least it might produce a second journal for someone in another three thousand years.

Atlantis. This must be it. The journal said that they were almost upon it, and now...

He cannot even think of words yet.

“Good man, Thatch.” He wishes that people would stop hitting him on the shoulder, especially when the gesture feels, from Rourke, like an alpha laying claim. He pulls away, then realises that he has just been volunteered for something.

It is Audrey's words that jolt him fully awake. “Go get her, tiger.”

Oh. _That's_ what he's been volunteered for.

 

 

“I have some questions for you,” he says, steeling himself to say the words to the woman herself. “And I am not leaving the city until they're answered. Yes, yes, that's good...”

He doesn't get any further before a hand wraps over his mouth, and he is clamped against someone. A muffled sound of protest leaves his lips, but it doesn't really do any good.

“I have some questions for you,” breathes a voice in his ear. “And you are not leaving the city until they're answered.”

Somehow, the answer comes out as, “Yeah, well... okay.”

 

 

Atlantis is incredible. It is beyond words – any words in any language – but every time that he thinks he has seen the best part, something else is shown to him. Boats and people and pots and fabrics and animals and... everything. And every so often, he catches Kida (Kidagakash, her full name, but he blushed and stumbled before he could get to the end of it and she chuckled and took pity on him) looking at him with a gentle smile, and it makes him feel hot under his skin.

Then she shows him the flying machine, and that becomes the best part of Atlantis.

Only the next thing he knows, he's being dragged to the ground as it zooms past overhead and slams into the rock wall. Milo goes to apologise, hoping that it isn't too badly damaged, only to realise that Kida has him pinned to the ground, her body pressed against his back, her breath hot against his neck.

He gasps, squirming, and Kida draws far enough back for him to roll over and face her, on her hands and knees above him. Her hair shadows her face, but he can see that her eyes are dark, her lips parted, and the heat beneath his skin builds in intensity as she reaches and touches one hand just to his neck. Her fingers trail slowly down his skin, and Milo realises that he is breathless just from the touch, but when he tries to drag in another deep breath he tastes as much as smells Alpha.

It isn't like a blow to the gut, as it has been before. The Alpha-ness of it is strong and deep, and it seems to root into his brain and roll down him, twisting in his stomach and clenching deeper down, but there is not the almost bitter edge that he has come to expect. Pleasant, that is the word, he realises with a rush.

Kida leans in, close to his skin without actually touching him, and her eyes close as she inhales deeply. Of him. His sense of smell seems to be getting more acute with each breath he takes, although he is sure that can't be true, and heat is flooding him in tight, itching waves.

Heat. It takes the thought a moment to settle in his brain, and then his eyes fly wide-open. For the longest time he has associated his heats with foul-tasting pills, sickness and shakes. Not with this... this, all too-tight skin and every part of him sensitive, and not being able to tear his eyes away from Kida's. This was what it was like in stories, of course, but they were just stories, and it wasn't as if they were ever going to be real.

Yet here he was, in Atlantis.

Here he was, for that matter, with Kida straddled above him, her hair brushing against his throat and her breasts brushing against his chest with every breath that she took. She shifts again, pressing a knee between his legs, and without thinking he goes to grind down against her thigh. Blood pulses in his veins, pools in his groin, and were it not for the fact that the tip of Kida's nose has drawn a line up his throat, until they are eye-to-eye, he might actually have been wondering why he wasn't embarrassed by this. But that isn't really important when Kida's lips part, and she almost goes to touch her tongue to his skin, only to draw away again.

Milo makes a sound in his throat that isn't quite intentional, but manages to say about as much as any language could, to judge by the expression on Kida's face.

“Do you want this?” she murmurs.

Want is a shadow next to _need_ , and he reaches up only to have his hand caught, held tightly. Without the shadow of Kida's hair around him, there is a little more of a breeze here, a caress of the air, and as he blinks away the haze of desire, he can look at her again.

“Want...” he trails off before he can manage the question.

“You're unmated,” Kida says. It takes more practice to smell those details than Milo has had. “Never even...”

She trails off, glancing at his wrist and running a thumb over the inside of it. Even the light touch sends a thrill down him, and he aches to reach up for her again. “I want this,” he says, quickly; perhaps too quickly, to judge by the momentary clouding of her expression. He reaches up more slowly with his other hand, until he strokes her hip. “I want you.”

“And how sure can I be that you know what you are saying?”

“I'm going into heat,” the retort comes out. “It doesn't mean that I haven't got a brain.”

She laughs, low and sultry, and turns out his wrist so that she can press a kiss to the inside of it. Milo props himself up onto one elbow so that he can reach her, and finally their lips meet, slow at first and then with increasing strength, increasing _need_. It both seals up a hole in him and opens up new ones, sending cracks spiralling out through everything that he has been so sure of, filling them up again with _Kida_ , with Alpha... with _mate_.

 

 

It seems to happen almost in flashes: her nails digging into his hips, her mouth on his throat, murmurs of distant languages passed from tongue to tongue. Clothes struggled with, hair in disarray around Kida's face, and then – oh, then – the feel of her knot swelling in him, until he lay boneless in her arms with her mouth against his neck, teeth grazing his skin but not biting down fully.

“Are you okay?” She is the first one to talk, a murmur. When she lifts her head her eyes are still dark and half-lidded, but she shifts her hips so that they can lie more comfortably together, still tied. Milo has to reach up and put his glasses back in place, blinking through the smears on them. The crystal at her neck is still shining, illuminating the planes of her face.

Of all things, though, he was not expecting her to say that. “I...” it is still difficult to form words, when he feels tender and hot and blissful all at once. “Yeah, pretty good. Good. Pretty good.” He reaches up to touch his neck; though there are tender spots that will probably turn to bruises, the skin is not broken. “You didn't claim me,” he says.

“I would not do that without your consent,” Kida says, and there is a note of displeasure in her voice. Her hand curls into a fist beside him, and her eyes harden. “Is that what you expect of me?”

“It's still,” he doesn't fear her, that is the thing, even unable to move and with her strong body above him, “well, still how it's done. Alphas claim Omegas.”

Kida averts her eyes for a moment, then turns back with tenderness in her expression again, and touches his cheek gently. “Then it does not occur to you that Omegas have just as much power over their Alphas?”

There is no answer that he can find. Instead, he reaches up and kisses her again.

 

 

“There is somewhere we can wash up,” she says, later still. “And while we are there, there is something which I want you to see. Put that brain of yours,” she reaches out with a playful smile to flick the tip of his nose, “to good use.”

Milo grins at her, stupidly and happily, as he wrestles his shirt back on. He does feel rather sticky and in need of a good bath, but that can't even make a dent on how he feels right now. “Might as well find use for it somewhere.”

 

 

“This is amazing!” Even without the swimming, he is sure that he would be breathless. “A complete history of Atlantis! It- it's just like Plato described it. Well, I mean he was off, on a few details, but...”

“The light I saw,” Kida interrupts. Her eyes fix on his and, beneath the surface, one hand reaches out to grip his arm. It almost makes him feel like he is stumbling in the water. “The star in the middle of the city. What does the writing say about that?”

“I don't know yet.” Her hand slips away from his arm, and it disappoints him that it has done so. “But we're gonna find out.”

 

 

They might just have answers. Milo feels as if he is being bouyed towards the surface, by hope and by the sight of Kida close to him, a comet in the water.

Until he surfaces, of course. Right at Rourke's feet.

The man just smirks at him. “Have a nice... swim?”

 

 

His clothes are still rumpled and sweaty, but he holds his head high and pretends that it is just from the travelling it took to reach Atlantis. The glint in Rourke's eye does not help, that speculative look of an Alpha regarding an Omega close to heat, one that is on their radar. It is the sort of look that Milo has learnt never to be caught alone with.

He is almost grateful that it is just a gun which is levelled at him.

“Thatch, Thatch, Thatch,” tutts Rourke, as both he and Kida are marched towards the King's chamber. “When will you learn? Words aren't going to change the world. Dumb Omega thing to think that they even will.”

Milo doesn't point out that _words_ were what got them to Atlantis. It's hard to be sarcastic when there's a gun just behind your shoulderblade.

 

 

Kida falls to her knees in front of the crystal. Milo's awed silence might have something of the same quality about it.

 

 

Of course, Rourke would take it. As he tries to take everything in life.

 

 

The last that Milo remembers of Rourke – truly _Rourke_ , in those last seconds before the blue ice-fire of the crystal consumes him – is the wild look in his eyes. It remains there even immortalised in his horrific crystalline form.

“Words did this,” he shouts to the shattered remains that fill the air like a rain of glass. “Knowledge did this.”

It could destroy and save, only one of which he had ever seen a weapon do.

 

 

“You know,” Kida says, and there is too much of a smile in her voice for her to even feign casualness, “you could stay.”

Milo smiles, and reaches to take her hand. “I might just have a vacancy for an Alpha.” When he sees her brows crease, he realises that the idea of a 'vacancy' must be a foreign one down here. It gives him a thrilling sense of freedom. “I mean..."

She steps forward, touching one finger to his lips. "I get the idea."

It makes him smile again, a warmth spreading through him. Not Heat-warmth, still not yet; this one seems to spread out from his heart as Kida places her hand against it and steps close enough to press their foreheads together. "So." Her hair brushes over his cheek, and her free hand takes hold of his. "Are you interested?"

"Very much so." She presses a light kiss to his lips. "Very much so."

 

 

"The world always needs more heroes," Sweet suggests.

"Nah," says Milo with a shrug. Kida steps up behind him and slips one arm around his waist. "I hear they've got a vacancy down here for an expert in gibberish."

Nobody believes a word of it, and he doesn't care. He is finally home.


End file.
